From One End to Another
by somebadhat
Summary: This fic came from a prompt on otpprompts: Imagine your OTP/3 saying goodbye and knowing they'll never meet again.


_This fic came from a prompt on otpprompts: Imagine your OTP/3 saying goodbye and knowing they'll never meet again. _

_**Do not** expect a happy ending, because it isn't. I posted this once and took it down 30 seconds afterwards because the ending was terrible, so if you've read that version I apologize for that. It's different now._

_Set after 7x22. Cuddy has just broken up with House. A little fast forward through the next two years of their roller coaster relationship. _

* * *

Avoidance was the theme of the day. For House, at least. He was avoiding Cuddy. She wanted to have a _talk_, which wouldn't end well. So what if he tried to perform surgery on his own leg? Okay, he saw what was wrong with that. But he didn't want to chat it up about their relationship. He couldn't handle that right now.

He was limping towards Wilson's office when the elevator doors slid open and Cuddy made eye contact with him.

"Shit," House muttered. He pivoted and started walking as fast as he could in the opposite direction. He went to the stair well and walked down slowly. His stitches were killing him.

Unfortunately Cuddy had two good legs and caught up to him in no time.

She muttered, "House, we need to talk."

"No we don't," he replied. "You _want_ to talk. We don't need to talk." He tried to pick up the pace.

"Okay, I want to talk about this. Please, House?"

He mock contemplated her proposal. "Um, no." They were approaching the cafeteria. House walked in and grabbed a bowl of pasta. He looked over his shoulder to see her still there. "She's buying," he said before leaving the register.

He sat at a table and she joined him after paying. "Thanks for that," she said sarcastically.

House didn't answer.

"Are we going to talk about us now?"

He shook his head no but didn't speak.

Cuddy sighed. "Fine! Let's make small talk. How's your whore? The sex as good as always?"

House again did not respond. He angrily picked at his food.

"Why are you acting this way? Just talk to me. Please." No response. She threw her hands into the air exasperatedly.

House continued picking at his food. "I don't sleep with Dominika."

Cuddy scoffed. "Right. Of course not."

House didn't answer again, frustration and hurt feelings boiling inside of him.

"I don't! I don't have sex with her!" House suddenly exploded. He was yelling and people around the room were staring at him, but he kept going. "Trust me, she tried! I told her I didn't sleep with married women! Is that pathetic or what?"

"House, that's not path-"

"But it is!" he yelled. "It is!" House stood up angrily. "Since when am I the type of guy to turn down hot sex? Guess what, Cuddy? _You_ made me that guy!" He stood there breathing heavily. He stopped yelling and looked her in the eye. "You made me that guy. You changed me and now you're gone."

All eyes in the cafeteria were on House and Cuddy. House looked at her with hurt in his eyes till he stood up and walked away. Cuddy didn't try to follow him.

[H] [H] [H] [H]

_Hours later._

House had the brush in his hand. He stared into the window of her house.

She had another man over. She'd told him she wasn't dating anyone.

He felt… he didn't know how he felt. He felt numb. Numb to everything, thanks to the booze and Vicodin.

But who knew numbness to pain could hurt just as bad. His chest felt heavy. His arms were tired.

So he sat and stared. Turning around, he got back into his car.

"Get out," he said to Wilson.

Another man. Eating at the table he would have dinner with Cuddy at. Sitting in his spot.

"Why? What happened?" he questioned, confused. He stepped out of the vehicle.

Numbness faded. He was furious. Everything around him was a blur as he barreled down the street and drifted back around. He was facing Cuddy's house. Everything was still for a moment. Then he was flooring it as fast as he could.

All he could think was _Stacy hurt me, Lydia hurt me, and you hurt me._

[H] [H] [H] [H]

_Two years later. James Wilson's Funeral._

House and Cuddy both attended separately, Cuddy unsure of whether House would attend at all. He did, however, attend.

The moment they saw each other they slowly walked to meet the other. It had been two years since House had driven his car through her house. His eyes were bloodshot but he wasn't crying. Silently they looked each other over, emotions of hurt and loneliness flashing in their expressions.

House expected her to slap him, to call him a bastard, anything to hurt him.

Instead Cuddy fell into his arms, embracing him while she choked back a sob. She couldn't maintain composure any longer, not with House of all people in front of her. He brought out the best and the worst in her. Wrapping his arms tightly around her, he relished the feeling of someone being there, truly there.

Cuddy held him as she began to think of the times back when she was at the hospital with Wilson and House. They had a great little threesome of a friendship. Everyone in the hospital loathed House not only for his recklessness but his ability to get away with his reckless deeds so easily. The team was at times forced to take some of that heat.

Other doctors would wonder how House and Wilson, who seemed to be on opposite ends of the spectrum, had so absolutely close for so long.

Other doctors would wonder as well why she, the dean of medicine, had let him get away with so much. House did represent half the malpractice suits every year. They wondered why she flirted and put up with his antics. They wondered what she could have ever seen in a drug addicted, narcissistic, former psych patient that would cause her to date him.

And she was sure both her and Wilson would answer the question the same way if they could: he knew how to love.

Cuddy breathed in the essence of House. The very smell of him caused tens of memories to come flooding back.

She thought of the good times. She thought of grabbing House's groin in front of Wilson just to prove that it was no lie, that they had truly slept together, and the look of absolute shock on his face.

She thought of the three of them drinking in House's office after Vogler had finally been triumphed over, and of the time she set up "couple's counseling" for House and Wilson. She thought of Wilson finding the pee of a golden retriever in House's plumbing and how House peed in a mug when she and Wilson were standing three feet away.

She wanted to laugh.

She thought of the bad times too, because there sure were bad times. When House had realized his hallucinations hadn't gone away, that them sleeping together had never really happened, and that he never detoxed she was so close to being heartbroken. And when she walked House up to Wilson's office she would never forget the look of surprise yet the look of knowing on his face. There was the cancer scare, of which Wilson tried to help them both through.

And finally the incident that ended her time at Princeton Plainsboro, the car crashing into her House. Wilson broke his wrist. Cuddy lost all sense of security. House went to jail.

And she wanted to sob.

House laid his hand on the back of her head as she hid her face in his neck and tried to hold her closer. He rested his cheek against her head as they stood there comforting each other. He didn't allow a single tear to drop, not one. A promise was made to his best friend that he would be okay and he wanted to be true to it.

Wilson told Cuddy a long time ago that House was still alive. She kept his secret for Wilson to have his last six months with the most consistent relationship he'd ever had: House. Who would have thought a relationship with House could be consistent? But it was, and 10 years had passed since House bailed Wilson out of jail after his first wife served him with divorce papers. House was figuratively dead for Wilson and Cuddy would never jeopardize what Wilson deserved. He deserved his friend.

The funeral had begun and House and Cuddy were now sitting separately. Cuddy looked back a few rows and as she saw him she wondered if anyone that recognized him would call the police. At this point it didn't look like House would care either way. His eyes were red, though he wasn't crying. Ironically he was wearing a sweater vest and a tie that Wilson would have worn.

The service was long and lovely and by the time it was over she was out of tissues. House was the first to get up and leave, pacing quickly towards the exit as if he just had to get away.

Cuddy quickly stood and followed him. This attracted some attention from the people in the attendees of the funeral. She almost began to jog as she went after him. He had one hand on his cane and the other was violently pulling and tugging at the tie around his neck. He was frantically trying to get it off. House was hyperventilating and stopped in the parking lot.

"Get it off, get it off me, get it off, get it off get it off…" he continued to mutter deliriously to himself. His voice was cracking.

"Here, let me." She loosened his tie that he was too anxious to remove himself and pulled it over his head. Handing it to House, he grabbed it and shoved it in his pocket. His eyes were bloodshot and he was hyperventilating still. Cuddy took him by the crook of his arm and guided him to her car.

Cuddy had him get in the passenger seat as she got into the driver's side. She had to take care of him. He never took care of her, not when she needed it, but she had to take care of him.

"How are you?"

"I want pills." He fidgeted around in his seat and looked out the window.

She scowled. "Then have some."

"I'd rather not ruin the sobriety." It had been five months.

"Oh," she said. "Congratulations, I guess."

"Thanks, I guess."

There was a little awkward silence as they pulled in the parking lot of a local park.

"I can't believe he's gone," Cuddy muttered.

"I can believe it plenty. It sucks." House wiped the snot from his nose and sniffed before a tear dropped from his eyelid. "Sorry for freaking out back there with the tie. It was Wilson's. It felt like it was choking me."

"It's okay. Let's go sit on the bench."

House sat down first with his arm along the back. Cuddy sat close to him, close enough that their sides were touching. He draped his arm around her shoulders like it was the most natural thing in the world.

"Why did you leave me, Cuddy?" he asked out of the blue.

She glanced at him sideways. "You know why."

He shook his head. "I think I know why, I don't think you do."

"Are you being serious right now?" He was telling her how she felt.

"Yes," he said simply.

"You went back on the pills," she said matter-of-factly. "That's why."

"Most addicts relapse at least once. You know that."

"Can we please not talk about this?" she pleaded.

He shook his head. "This could be the last time we ever speak to each other. Wouldn't you rather get it out in the open?"

She slowly nodded. "Yeah," she said. "I would."

"Okay. I think Vicodin isn't the reason you left." Cuddy began shaking her head in disagreement as he spoke. "From day one of my career at PPTH you had a thing for me. Since college, technically. But from day one at work I was on Vicodin and you still loved me."

"Notice how we were only _together_ when you were sober, though. College, our almost-year together, was all in sobriety. You see the pattern?"

"But you loved me even when I wasn't."

"Yes." She wasn't going to argue that. She did love him.

He smiled a little, but it was a sad smile. "You used Vicodin as an excuse to leave me. You needed an excuse because you were afraid."

She scoffed. "_I_ was afraid? Please. _You_ were afraid. You were always afraid of happiness."

"I wasn't afraid with you, Cuddy." He kissed the top of her head casually, using his arm to bring her closer. "Like I said, you changed me." He was referring to the fight they had two years ago in the hospital cafeteria.

"Okay, so Vicodin wasn't the reason, it was an excuse, whatever you want to think House. But what's your excuse for ramming your car through my god damned home?"

His eyes look pained. "I was high off my ass," he told her sincerely, "but there isn't an excuse for it. I'm sorry." Cuddy saw the remorse, and it was genuine. For once in his life he was remorseful.

"I know. I'm sorry, House," she said. She made her share of mistakes as well. "I told you I didn't want you to change and then I was upset and angry when you didn't. It wasn't fair to you."

He chuckled. "No, it wasn't."

She playfully elbowed him. "Shut up." House rubbed his hand up and down Cuddy's arm warmly. For the both of them, it was the first time they'd really smiled since Wilson was gone.

They sat in comfortable silence, House holding her and Cuddy being held.

House asked, "Is this the last time we'll see each other?"

Cuddy leaned against him. "For some reason… it feels like it is."

House held her chin with his fingers and kissed her softly and affectionately.

He stood up with a sad expression and said, "Goodbye, Cuddy." He paused to look at her, really look, before he limped away from her. Cuddy was having flashbacks to their breakup. Was the reference on purpose? Or was it just all he could say?


End file.
